


A Marvelous Fate: a collection of MCU soulmate drabbles

by Jadzia_Bear



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4660239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzia_Bear/pseuds/Jadzia_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of soulmate drabbles for various pairings throughout the Marvel Cinematic Universe, including a combination of soulmate identifying marks, first words and more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darcy Lewis/Bucky Barnes: Relationship status

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Soulmate Shorts AKA The Crackship Armada](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2658407) by [ozhawk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozhawk/pseuds/ozhawk). 



> Yes, I am finally succumbing to the desire to create a series of crackship soulmate drabbles. Imbibe at your own risk ;)
> 
> If you're not familiar with the concept, basically each chapter will show two soulmates finding each other. They might know they've found each other because it's an AU where everyone has the first words their soulmate says to them written on their skin, like a tattoo they're born with (or that appears the day their soulmate is born), or it might be because they have matching soulmark symbols somewhere on their bodies, or possibly some other crazy method, who knows? Clear as mud? I should hope so. Assume that none of the chapters are connected to each other unless I say otherwise.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When is a fake relationship not a fake relationship?

Bucky swipes a flute of champagne off the tray of a passing server. This is by far the worst part of being an Avenger—the hobnobbing, the schmoozing, the galas, the speeches. Making small talk with celebrities and politicians falls just below trimming Thor’s toenails on Bucky’s list of favourite things to do.

He scans the ballroom for Steve or Natasha, but instead of his friends, he finds the Mayor and his wife heading straight for him.

Bucky groans inwardly. _Here we go again._

He pastes a smile on his face big enough to match theirs and greets them both warmly. “Mr and Mrs Newman.”

They shake his hand and say how lovely it is to see him again. He plays along, exchanging all the usual pleasantries while bracing himself for what always comes next.

“Our daughter Ebony is still very keen to meet you, Mr Barnes,” says Mrs Newman, with what she probably thinks is a beguiling smile. “She is yet to meet her soulmate, just like you, dear, so who knows?”

Bucky has already talked his way out of this very conversation at least half a dozen times at half a dozen different events and he’s running out of polite excuses. Then out of the corner of his eye he spots his saving grace.

He’d been introduced to Dr Foster’s intern earlier in the night, along with Dr Foster herself and a handful of others. Although they hadn’t specifically spoken to each other, she’d raised her glass and an eyebrow at him, and several times during the night he’d noticed her checking him out when she thought he wasn’t looking.

Her strapless ballgown hadn’t escaped his attention, nor had the playful lilt of her smile. She’s just his type, too, all curves and curls, which maybe has more influence than it should on what he does next.

“I’m currently in a relationship, I’m sorry to say,” Bucky says with an apologetic smile, and reaches for Darcy’s hand as she wanders past. “Darcy, honey, let me introduce you to the Mayor.”

Darcy’s eyes go understandably wide as he draws her in close under the guise of a kiss on the cheek. “Please just go with it,” he whispers in her ear.

Her cheek is soft as a peach beneath his lips and her perfume is subtle and sweet. His body responds to her nearness and it occurs to him that this was a terrible time for him to follow his instincts instead of his head.

“This is my girlfriend, Darcy,” he says to the older couple, making the introduction while simultaneously filling Darcy in on his little white lie. He holds his breath, waiting to see whether the whole situation is about to blow up in his face.

Darcy is ready for this. She is _so_ ready for this. She’s been preparing her whole life for this very moment. Even as a child, she’d play-acted the scene that would surely follow the moment she met her soulmate.

The part she’s not prepared for is that her soulmate is _James Buchanan Barnes oh my GOD._ Just the part where he looks hot as sin in a tuxedo with his hair in a bun is enough to throw her off balance. The fact that he’s an Avenger and a legend is enough to make her positively weak in the knees.

She doesn’t have the first clue why he’s lying to the mayor about his relationship status, but she’s got no problem following his lead, and she figures it won’t be a lie for long anyway, now that they’ve found each other.

She tells her kneecaps to hold steady and looks him straight in the eye. “Baby, you never told me you knew the mayor,” she says lightly.

She watches with satisfaction as his eyes grow owlish at the sound of his own soul words. She gets her smirk under control and turns to the older couple. They shake her hand politely but seem disappointed for some reason, which only has Darcy more intrigued.

“Lovely to meet you, dear,” says Mrs Newman, looking like she at least _wants_ to mean it, even if she doesn’t. “And are you two soulmates, or...?”

Darcy slips an arm around Bucky’s waist as she glances up to check in with him. He’s the one telling the story here.

“Yeah,” he breathes, grinning down at her.

Fortunately for Bucky, Darcy seems to be a natural at bullshitting to public officials. She spins them a tale about the first time she met him, something to do with them both reaching for the same jar of coffee in the supermarket, allowing Bucky to focus on draining his champagne glass as he processes what just happened.

“Pretty boring story, really,” she finishes, throwing him a wink.

The Newmans prove to be easy enough to shake once they know there’s absolutely no chance left for their daughter, and Bucky steers Darcy away from them at the first opportunity.

“What was _that_ about?” she grins up at him as soon as they’re out of earshot.

“They’re always trying to set me up with their daughter,” he explains. “I had to resort to drastic measures.”

“Pulling your soulmate out of a crowd at random is a pretty drastic way to get out of a date,” she agrees.

He puts his empty glass down on a nearby table and they come to a stop in a semi-secluded corner behind a pillar. He turns to face her, taking her hand and drinking in the sight of her now that they have a moment to themselves.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he says with a lop-sided smile. “What a weird way to meet your soulmate.”

She shakes her head, tousling her big, soft curls. “No, it was awesome. I can’t wait to tell Jane. And also everyone else for the rest of our lives.”

Bucky thinks he might never be able to look away from those full, ruby red lips, but then he notices that her eyes are a fascinating shade of aquamarine.

Bucky’s grin is big and cheesy, but he just can’t help it. “Damn, you’re beautiful.”

A light blush warms her cheeks. “You’re not so bad yourself, handsome,” she says, touching his lapel.

Bucky is filled with an overwhelming need to know every single thing about her, from the way she takes her coffee to the type of underwear she wears.

“Hey, you want to get out of here?” she asks. “I never liked these things anyway.”

He grins, already looking for the exit. “You read my mind.”


	2. Bruce Banner/Jemma Simmons: Lab practices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the lovely feedback on chapter 1, I'm blown away! If you have any crackship requests for future chapters feel free to put them in the comments and I'll see what I can do.
> 
> In my mind this is set in Avengers tower before the events of Age of Ultron (not that it really matters).
> 
> Many thanks to ozhawk for the beta :)

“Hey, I finally met that new lab partner of yours yesterday,” Tony says around a mouthful of taco. “What’s her name, Simmons? She’s cute.”

Bruce unwraps his burrito as he silently pulls a lungful of air right down to his diaphragm and releases it again to the count of four. Not two minutes into their weekly lunch catch-up and Tony already has him taking yoga breaths.

“She’s very smart, and she works hard,” Bruce says, keeping his tone neutral and hoping, probably fruitlessly, that Tony will drop the subject.

In the weeks since Jemma joined Bruce in the labs in Avengers tower he’s grown...very attached to her, and he doesn’t need to give Tony that kind of ammo.

Jemma isn’t just smart, she’s brilliant, much more intelligent than Bruce, and with a few more years’ experience under her belt he will have lost any advantage he might currently have over her. She’s sweet as pie, but she’s no pushover. If she thinks she’s right, she’s not afraid to make her voice heard, but most of the time she’s just...lovely. Sweet and smart and kind and strong, and all the things he likes in a woman. It’s a good thing he’s had so much practice keeping his emotions under control.

“Should’ve heard the way she talked about you, Brucey,” Tony says, whacking Bruce’s arm with the back of his hand. “And when I say ‘talked’ I mean ‘gushed’. Like a teenager fangirling over...” he shrugs as he settles on a fitting example, “me.”

Bruce has no plans to indulge Tony on this topic, choosing instead to take a bite of his burrito.

If he _had_ been inclined to engage, he might have taken this opportunity to thank Tony ever so much for using a metaphor that’s such an apt reminder of the massive age difference between himself and Jemma.

Yes, admittedly Bruce’s soulmate must be of a similar age to her, going by the year his soulmark first appeared, but he still feels like a creep whenever he catches himself taking pleasure in the moments where they accidentally brush pass each other or her fingers cover his as he passes her a cup of tea.

“She’s totally into you, is all I’m saying,” Tony says, though he seems more concerned with eyeing off Bruce’s tortilla chips than with what he’s actually saying.

_Even if you weren’t spectacularly wrong, Tony, it’s not that simple and you know it._

“How ‘bout that weather we’ve been having lately,” Bruce says pointedly, hoping to steer the topic in _any_ other direction.

Tony holds up his salsa-y hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, she’s not your type. Message received.” He points at Bruce’s chips. “Are you going to eat those?”

* * *

The next morning finds Bruce pipetting a disturbingly yellow liquid into a row of vials as Jemma pours the tea. In an uncharacteristic display of absentmindedness, she goes back and forth between Bruce and the teapot three separate times, first because she accidentally gave him her drink instead of his, then because she forgot the milk, then the sugar.

“You okay, Jem? You seem a bit distracted today,” Bruce says, glancing up before carefully measuring out the last dose of the toxic chemical.

“Me? I’m fine,” she says with a plastered-on smile. She props her hip against the counter beside him in a calculated attempt to act cool.

He feels like she looks especially pretty today. Maybe the pale blue of her blouse is accentuating the pink of her lips or something. All he knows for sure is that the longer he knows her, the more beautiful he finds her.

In the length of time it takes for her to have a sip of her tea, she evidently decides to drop the act. “Well, _actually_ ,” she begins.

She lowers her cup and in the process her elbow jostles the beaker of yellow fluid. For a second, Bruce thinks they might actually be okay, that the container is going to right itself before anything bad happens. The subsequent second proves him horribly wrong.

The beaker falls hard, sloshing its contents across the counter towards them. Jemma takes the brunt of it across her side and stomach; Bruce cops it on the back of his hands and wrists.

Jemma gasps in horror at what she’s done, her wide eyes meeting his. They have sixty seconds—maybe less—before the liquid starts to burn their skin, and they both know it.  

Bruce’s adrenalin spikes. His heartbeat thuds to the rhythm of the Other Guy hammering to get out.

_Breathe, Bruce. You know how this works._

Jemma’s fingers fly to the buttons of her blouse, but there’s no time for that. Without a second thought, or possibly even a first one, Bruce tears the garment right off her, buttons flying in all directions.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. Her bra is white with a small pattern on it—roses, or maybe strawberries. He doesn’t let himself look.

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” Jemma says as they hurry to the emergency shower in the corner of the lab. She spins the tap and ice cold water cascades down on her. She grimaces, forcing herself to stay put under the icy deluge.

Bruce plunges his hands into the stream of cold water and they both set to work determinedly scrubbing the chemical from their skin.

“I’m so sorry, Bruce,” she says again. “Are you...is the Other Guy...?”

“He’s not coming out to play today,” Bruce assures her, holding her gaze for a moment so she can see for herself there’s no hint of green in his eyes.

She nods her thanks, those pink lips pressed together in an apologetic smile. She’s managing to keep her face out of the spray, but her jeans, her shoes, the ends of her hair, (that pretty bra that he’s not looking at,) are all drenched.

As the chemical swirls away down the plughole and the danger lessens, Bruce becomes all the more aware of the fact that they’re standing so close to each other that they’re practically touching. The way she dresses, he’s never even seen the bare skin of her arms before today, let alone her shoulders, her delicate collar bones, the gentle swell of her cleavage.

Bruce muscles his thoughts back to the issue that brought them here. He finishes washing his hands and turns them one way then the other as he checks himself over, but there are no signs that the chemical has done any damage.

“Let me take a look,” he says to Jemma, keeping himself out of the spray but hunkering down a little to get a better look at the smooth, pale skin of her stomach.

There are no chemical burns on her either, but now that he’s looking properly, he notices the silvery soulmark over her lower ribs on the left side—an achingly familiar series of interconnected and overlaid hexagons. His stomach sinks to somewhere far past his feet.

“Oh, Jem.”

He’d hoped that when the time came it would be a stranger he’d have to disappoint with this news. The fact that it’s her...

“What is it?” she asks, looking down and tilting her hips up to better examine herself. “Have I been burned? I can’t feel anything.”

He shakes his head. “No, you’re fine. You’re perfect,” he adds quietly, straightening up. _That’s what makes this so sad._

She shuts off the water and he passes her a towel. He takes one for himself as well, turning his back to her as he dries his hands.

“Bruce?” He can hear the gentle query in her voice.

Bruce suddenly wonders what happened to his cup of tea. He looks back to where he was working and sees his mug lying on its side. The fragrant loose-leaf tea Jemma made him has mixed with the chemical as both substances spread across the counter top. He doesn’t even remember dropping the cup.

He sinks down onto a stool. In his peripheral vision Jemma is stepping out of her waterlogged jeans, the towel wrapped around her torso.

“Your soulmark, Jemma. It matches mine,” he says, avoiding her eyes.

“Oh my god, really?!” Her face splits into a grin. “That’s amazing!”

She quickly but carefully crosses over to him in her bare, wet feet, not wanting to slip on the smooth floor.

Bruce snorts softly, even though nothing about this is funny. “You seem to be forgetting the part where your soulmate is a mass murderer.”

He folds his arms protectively over his chest, still not sure if it’s appropriate to look at her in her current state of undress.

“Oh, don’t give me that nonsense,” she says matter-of-factly, coming to stand in front of him. “Bruce, please look at me.”

“Jemma—” he starts, meeting her gaze.

_Like a band-aid, Bruce. Just spit it out, she needs to know._

“I can’t have sex.”

“I know,” she says, sounding surprised that he’s even bringing it up. “I told you the first day we met that I’d read everything I could get my hands on about you, and to be perfectly honest, I’m not especially allosexual myself. It’s one of the reasons I thought we’d be so well suited to each other.”

Bruce doesn’t know what that word means, but there’s something else he needs to address first.

“You ‘thought,’ past tense? You thought about us, prior to now?” he asks, his arms slipping from their guarded position over his chest.

“Yes, actually,” Jemma admits with a self-conscious smile. “A highly inappropriate amount, one might say. In fact,” she fiddles with the top edge of the towel, her cheeks growing pink, “the reason I was so nervous that I knocked over the beaker is because I was about to ask you out to dinner.” She watches him through her lashes, her lip between her teeth.

“Huh,” is about all Bruce can manage in response to that, a slow smile spreading across his face. This...changes everything.

 “All right, then?” she asks, her mouth quirking. “Done trying to convince me that I don’t want you?”

“For now,” he concedes.

She moves closer until she’s almost standing between his knees. “Well, go on,” she says, nodding at his shirt. “You’ve seen mine.”

Bruce supposes that’s fair. He unbuttons his shirt and untucks his shirt tails. It’s been a long time since a girl asked him to take his shirt off, but no matter how awkward he might feel, it can’t be as bad as what Jemma just went through.

He holds still as she runs a fingertip over the silver shapes on his ribs, looking closely to see them through the dark hair. Her fingers are like ice, and now that he’s letting himself look at her properly, he can see goosebumps all the way up her arms.

He takes her other hand and wraps it in both of his to warm it. He’s about to suggest they go and find her some dry clothes, but something in her eyes makes him keep quiet. He’s always forcing himself to look away from those wells of honey brown, afraid she might be able to discern the depth of his feelings if he maintains eye contact for too long. It’s liberating to let himself get lost in them now, in the warmth and adoration radiating from them. What could possibly make the Fates think he deserved her?

He wants very badly to slip his arms around her towel-clad waist and kiss her, but she’d said something earlier about not being interested in sex and he doesn’t want to overstep her boundaries before he even knows what they are. Fortunately for him, Jemma takes things into her own hands.

Those beautiful, expressive eyes flick down to his mouth. “Bruce, may I—?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, before she can even finish the question. Whatever she wants, she can have it.

She lays a cool, gentle hand on his cheek and presses her lips to his. He encircles her with his arms and she comes easily, pressing herself to his bare chest and winding her arms around his neck.

Bruce feels his hormones surge with the pleasure of finally having her so close. He breathes through it, revelling in the heady joy of skin on skin, lips on lips, without letting things get out of control.

When the kiss ends, Bruce guides her forehead to his with a gentle hand on the back of her head. She sighs, a soft, contented hum, and they take a quiet moment in each other’s arms to let it all sink in.

“What should we do now?” Bruce murmurs eventually.

Jemma pulls back and straightens up. “You could walk me back to my room so I can get some dry clothes. I’d rather not have to face everyone’s stares on my own!”

Bruce stands as well. “You can teach me what allosexual means on the way.”

She smiles at that. “I’ll have to teach you a few other words too, to put that one in context.”

He buttons up his shirt as they make their way towards the door. “What kind of scientist would I be if I didn’t like learning new things?”

He’s already learned a surprising amount today, why stop now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allosexual is the term for someone who experiences sexual attraction i.e. someone who does not identify as being asexual or on the greysexual spectrum. 
> 
> I love the idea of putting Bruce in a romantic non-sexual relationship with an ace or grey-ace character, and I've been wanting to write Jemma/Bruce for a really, really long time, so thank you very much for indulging me <3
> 
> Remember to let me know if you have any crackship requests!


End file.
